


And Sometimes The Rain Will Fall Gently Upon Your Grave

by ch00se



Series: Tidbits [16]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Castiel & Dean Winchester Friendship, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Gen, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch00se/pseuds/ch00se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Angels can manipulate a lot of things," Cas comments, looking up into the sky. "But one thing they cannot control is being controlled."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Sometimes The Rain Will Fall Gently Upon Your Grave

₪

 

"Dean, please, Dean look at me, tell me, tell me this wasn't you Dean," Sam shakes Dean's head in his hands, "Dean please, say this wasn't you, c'mon Dean, say something-" 

 

"We have to leave," Cas says from behind him. Sam lets go of Dean's face and there are red finger imprints in his cheeks.

 

"What about- what do we do with Dean?" Sam knows how terrified he sounds, but honestly, he's allowed to be.

 

"We do not do anything with him," Cas chastises Sam, but then softens. "We cannot stay here."

 

"But what do we do," Sam starts to panic again, looking at Dean's unresponsive face, body, oh my god he's just slaughtered an entire house full of people and Sam doesn't even know if that's his brother anymore. "Cas, Cas we can't just let him do this- he's getting worse we need to do something can't you-"

 

"No," Cas replies bluntly, leaning down until he's eye level with Dean. Sam feels like Cas is being unnaturally calm about this. "We cannot stay here. I will take us somewhere where we can lay low for a while." He places on hand on Dean's head, and reaches the other around to Sam's leg. Sam doesn't have enough time to take a breath before Cas has whisked them off.

 

He stumbles a bit when Cas abruptly lets go of his leg. The angel is already unfolding Dean into a bed on the other side of, what looks like, a hotel room. Sam looks around and sees it's nighttime outside. Shit. He hopes they're still in America at least.

 

Dean is slumped against Cas's thigh, his head lolling and the sight is enough for Sam to avert his eyes. It's not sensual- or intimate, but it feels invasive for Sam to see Dean so vulnerable even after all these years. 

 

Instead, Sam looks at Cas, who is gazing down at Dean with an indecipherable expression on his face. Sam swallows uncomfortably. 

 

"Cas, where are we?"

 

Cas turns around with a grim expression before answering. "Beacon Hills, California."

 

₪

 

Stiles knows he shouldn't be out here again. It's the fourth time this week. But it just feels right to be here, with the Nemeton.

 

And wow, that shouldn't be right at all, considering all the shit the Nemeton has dealt him. But Stiles can't sleep at home. He knows Derek orders Scott to stake out his house, and Stiles also knows Scott disobeys Derek because Scott and Lydia and literally everyone else hasn't forgotten what Stiles did like Derek evidently has.

 

Even his Dad hasn't forgotten. Maybe it was the hospital visit, or Eichen House, or a combination of everything that's happened in the last couple of weeks but the Sheriff and Stiles haven't been on good speaking terms. 

 

So Stiles sneaks out. And with all that's happened in Beacon Hills that's not a good idea. But next to the Nemeton is the only place Stiles finds solace in this town.

 

Well, here. And with the Argents.

 

And that should be funny, it should be damn near hilarious how the only people Stiles can be around right now are the two people who should hate him the most. But they don't. And Stiles can't figure out why.

 

All he knows is that Chris and Isaac are the only two people who will talk to him with amicable tones and neutral faces.

 

The bottom line is, Stiles is out here again. He's out here with this damn magical tree stump under the moon and he's got enough dirt under fingers by now, he's got enough blood and fox fur and broken chess pieces on his clothes, under his skin, but he's here again, regardless.

 

Sometimes Stiles dreams.

 

And then he realises he's walking barefoot again, why does he never take shoes with him? The fox was never a germaphobe but shit even foxes groom themselves. Stiles doesn't like scrubbing twigs and crushed leaves out from between his toes every morning. 

 

It's a good thing Isaac isn't going to school either, otherwise Stiles would probably slaughter the entire town out of boredom. (It's sad how no one would be surprised by what Stiles thinks about these days. They're probably waiting for it to happen.) Isaac and Stiles stay in Chris' house, studiously avoid Allison's room, and read up about supernatural creatures.

 

What better way to pass the time?

 

A week later, and Stiles is knee deep in an old, hastily compiled, glossary of supernaturally enhanced locations all over the world. He didn't even know there was anything special about Wyoming. He learns new things everyday, he supposes. Stiles is interrupted by Chris knocking on the doorframe. Isaac slips past him and sits on a chair to the left of Stiles.

 

"Got some news," Chris says. He's not been a Chatty Cathy since- but then, has anyone been? Stiles feels disturbingly detached from the situation. In a morose, kind of belatedly amused way. She'd probably approve, what with how she behaved after her mother died.

 

"About?" Stiles asks. Okay, so what? He hasn't been much of a Chatty Cathy either, so sue him.

 

"I was contacted by some old hunter friends today," Chris says slowly, moving into the room and sitting down near the window. "They're good people. They're not here for a hunt. Just to, and I quote, 'get some peace and quiet'."

 

"Huh," Stiles says. And he doesn't need to say anything else to communicate the level of bullshit he's calling. Hunters generally do not equal 'good people'. Also, what hunters come to Beacon Hills of all places seeking peace and quiet? Beacon Hills is least peaceful and quiet town on the whole continent. 

 

"Yeah, see I don't believe that," and there's Isaac, always the voice of skepticism. Stiles doesn't know why they weren't friends before this. Chris frowns.

 

"I know two of them, they came here for a hunt a while ago." He stares at Stiles, more than Isaac. "When I say they're good people, I mean it."

 

Stiles and Chris stare each other down for a moment. And then Stiles backs down.

 

"Okay," he says. And then, "I trust you."

 

None of them laugh, but Stiles laughs enough for all three of them inside his head.

 

Isaac volunteers to tell Derek about the hunters coming so the Pack doesn't kill them. Straight away, at least. Chris and Stiles don't mention the fact that Isaac hasn't spoken to Derek since the Alpha Pack. It's not like any of them are in Derek's good books right now, and yes, Stiles is counted. 

 

He doesn't kid himself that just because Derek appears to have forgiven him for- for her, it doesn't mean Derek has forgiven him for everything else. The harassment, the sadism, all of the mind fuckery.

 

Anyway. Stiles volunteers to go with Chris to meet the hunters at their hotel room. Well. He doesn't so much volunteer as pile into Chris' car and dare him with a look to tell Stiles to get out. Chris doesn't. He drives soundlessly to the only hotel in town and strides into the lobby. 

 

Stiles appreciates the silence. It's a nice change. 

 

Soon they're on the elevator, and then knocking on the door to room 397. When the door opens, a chain prevents Stiles from seeing the man's entire face behind the door. 

 

"Hi. Chris Argent."

 

And that's all it takes before the man is unlocking the door and ushering them in, peering behind Stiles for anyone else, and Stiles is vaguely offended the man thinks they wouldn't have noticed someone following them. Vaguely. Stiles is pretty off his game right now.

 

When Stiles gets inside the room he's immediately pushed up against the door. There's a bruising grip on his upper left arm, and a bristly face way too close to his own. Stiles briefly registers the man who opened the door shouting in the background for someone named "Cas", and Chris is trying to pull the man holding Stiles away but it's proving fruitless. Stiles can feel his heartbeat pulsating slowly in his ears. His taste for chaos hasn't left him completely, it seems.

 

"Who are you," the man growls, and Stiles almost yelps. Almost. He hasn't peed himself yet though. "Why do I- how do you know me? Who are you?" His breath bounces off Stiles' face.

 

"I don't- I don't know you, you psycho, get off me oh my god," Stiles struggles against the hold but it's as useless as Chris' attempts. "Why are you attacking me, I've never met you before in my li- oh."

 

The man doesn't loosen his grip but he does narrow his eyes at Stiles when he stops fighting. The thing is, Stiles doesn't know him. He's never met this man, or the other one, or the mysterious "Cas" before but the man right here is so startlingly familiar. Stiles doesn't understand. It's something about the way he holds himself, the smell of his leather jacket or, or something about the way he talks. Low, dangerous, with a distinct "don't fuck with me" tone. But before Stiles can figure out why, the man is being pulled away, and not by Chris.

 

It's a totally different man. One in a beige trench coat, with a seriously pissed off expression, one that melts into something so deeply sad and pained that it aches within Stiles. 

 

"What- can someone tell me, what is happening here?" Stiles looks pleadingly at Chris only to be returned the same look. 

 

The man who had attacked Stiles is now enfolded in an embrace with the trench coat man, and if Stiles squints he can see the man shaking slightly. The first man, the one who'd opened the door, comes forward.

 

"Um," he looks at the other two, and gets seemingly lost before snapping back to himself. "Sorry about- yeah, just, sorry." He looks pitiful and Stiles kind of wants to console him even though he was the one who was unreasonably attacked. 

 

"What's wrong with Dean," Chris demands angrily- no, hollowly, Stiles thinks, as he watches Chris gaze at 'Dean' - the attacker - with something strange in his eyes. "You never mentioned this in your call, if you've brought something dangerous here, you know I'll have to-"

 

"Yeah, yeah," the original man waves away Chris' threats tiredly. He gestures for Stiles and Chris to sit down, and maybe the man is good at ignoring his two companions but Stiles can't look away, and neither can Chris. The man clears his throat.

 

"I'm uh, I'm Sam Winchester," he mostly introduces himself to Stiles, so Stiles tears his eyes away from the other two men. "I'm really sorry about this Chris, I had no idea this would-"

 

"Explain," Chris says curtly. Sam swallows. So does Stiles. Angry Chris isn't very friendly. 

 

Sam glances at the other two, and then Stiles forgets how to breathe for a moment because the fox is back, it's back inside his head and he's hallucinating because Dean or whatever just disappeared. The other man comes forward and places a hand on Sam's shoulder.

 

"Woodbridge, Detroit," the man says to Sam, his eyes old. "There was a shootout occurring."

 

Sam seems to sag and shoots the other man a grateful look. Then he sighs, and holds up a hand to silence Chris' impending question. "Just- I will explain okay. Listen." Sam looks Chris and Stiles in the eyes at the seemingly same time. "Listen carefully."

 

"Wait," the other man says, and brings a bag from the bed to sit with. He rustles around inside for a moment before nodding to Sam. Stiles feels as out of depth now as he did back when Gerard kidnapped him.

 

"Okay." Sam licks his lips and focuses on Chris. "Short version, Dean has the Mark of Cain. Yes, it is very real. No, we don't know how to cure him." Now he looks pained. "Yet. We are working in it. We're not here for hunt, we're just here to recuperate and then we'll be gone." Sam seems to steel himself and then he says his next sentence in a rush, specifically addressed to Chris. "Dean's not the same person he was when you first met him. He's- he's different. He's been through a lot." Sam laughs but it's brittle. "We've all been through a lot." 

 

Chris huffs out a off sounding laugh. "That we have." Stiles squirms uncomfortably. "So. Who's the muscles."

 

Sam looks taken aback for a second, and the other man looks around in confusion. "I don't understand," he mumbles to Sam. Stiles would laugh. Actually, he does, but it's inside his head like a lot of things are these days. 

 

"This is Cas, Castiel. He's an, uh," and now Sam looks slightly amused, as if he's said this a lot of times before, "He's an angel of lord."

 

"Of course," Chris replies, deadpan, and then Cas is talking.

 

"I am an angel, Sam is correct in that, but I no longer serve the lord." He looks downtrodden at that. 

 

"Who do you serve then?" Chris asks, still on edge.

 

"Dean," Cas says simply, as if that's enough. Maybe it is. What does Stiles know.

 

"Okay," Chris says slowly, and leans back in his chair. "Assuming that is true, and Dean does have the Mark of Cain," at this he tilts his head down, "Which I need outside confirmation of, where did you send him?" He directs that last bit at Cas, who looks alert again.

 

"I should retrieve him now," Cas says, and then he's gone. Stiles counts his fingers just in case.

 

Sam answers for him. "The Mark makes Dean...bloodthirsty," Sam looks uncomfortable. "So when he gets mad, like before," now he looks confused, "Cas sends him somewhere where he can let his anger out in...useful ways."

 

"Why did Dean get mad at Stiles?" Chris asks, now concerned. Stiles still has no idea what the Mark of Cain is. How Chris is accepting all of this, he doesn't know.

 

There's a low whoosh. "I think I know," Dean says, and steps a little bit away from Cas. Stiles shifts in his chair, eyeing the man suspiciously. Dean smiles reassuringly at him but it's wooden and Stiles wonders if that's what he looks like.

 

"So?" Stiles speaks up. "Spill." 

 

Dean's expression doesn't waver.  "Cas?" 

 

Dean looks at the angel, (and wow Stiles is going to look that up when he gets home), and Cas steps forward and places two fingers on Stiles' forehead. Stiles would be more alarmed if Cas didn't pull away just as quickly.

 

"Yes," he confirms, but what he's confirming no one but him and Dean know. Even Sam looks lost.

 

Dean, however, looks the opposite of relieved. "Well then." He turns to face Stiles, a pseudo eager expression on his face. "Were you, by any chance, recently possessed by a demon?"

 

₪

 

No one speaks for a minute. Stiles is somewhere between the basement in Eichen House, and the white room playing a board game. Chris clears his throat.

 

"Why do you ask that?" He says cautiously, and Dean turns his dark smile on him. 

 

"Just because," he says, almost playfully, and Stiles is halfway to a panic attack here why is no one appreciating that? "A couple of weeks ago, I met this demon in hell, kinda cute, furry, something Sam would like probably. Right Sammy?" Dean looks at Sam and Sam looks alarmed at being singled out. "Not quite a dog, but close enough. Foxes have a tail too. Well, this one had a bunch but," he does halfhearted jazz hands, "You kinda expect it, being a talking fox and all." 

 

Maybe it's the way Dean's so casually talking about the one thing that literally ripped apart a few hundred lives, or maybe it's the way Stiles can feel thick, crusty bandages in his mouth, stuffing his throat and making his eyes water. Either way, it's Cas who reaches for Stiles and grips his wrist tightly until the panic is washed away.

 

"Shit," Stiles says, and he's gasping for breath because he's still in the ice bath, he never woke up, they never saved their parents, and the Sheriff is dead and it's all Stiles' fault dammit dammit dammit-

 

"Stiles." It's Chris this time, Chris Argent leaning forward with a serious expression and a hand out reached, "Stiles it's okay, you're okay, the fox is gone we killed it-"

 

"But I killed her," Stiles bursts out, and what if this isn't real? What if the fox is still here, in him? He starts counting his fingers feverishly, and has to keep starting again because he's loses track when his fingers start shaking. Or were they always shaking? Stiles doesn't know. "She's still dead!" 

 

"And it wasn't you," Chris says, and god Stiles really didn't mean to start a scene, but now Dean looks past mildly uncomfortable, and Sam is awkwardly hovering behind Cas, and Chris looks heart broken but determined at the same time. When did Stiles' life become a soap opera? He wants to laugh in all their faces but settles for doing it inside his mind. 

 

And then suddenly, Stiles doesn't hear anything. 

 

He can't see anything either. In fact, he looks around and all he detects is the soft ground beneath his feet.

 

"Livingston Island," Cas answers the question Stiles hadn't asked yet. There's the soft sound of footsteps until the angel comes into view, white snow blisteringly around him. 

 

"Why isn't it cold then?" Stiles squints but all he can see is snow, and Cas. He rubs his hands together but it still feels like his body is in the hotel room in Beacon Hills.

 

"Angels can manipulate a lot of things," Cas comments, looking up into the sky. "But one thing they cannot control is being controlled." 

 

Stiles blinks and takes a second to digest that. Then he walks up to Cas and looks into the sky with him.

 

They're silent for a few minutes. Stiles wonders if he can persuade Cas to bring him here more often. He likes it. The silence. The lack of sensory information.

 

Cas begins to speak. "Once, some time ago, I was rescued from a bad situation by someone I thought was helping me. I later found out I was wrong. This person controlled me and forced me to do things I otherwise would never have done." Cas stops speaking and Stiles wonders if he's done, if he should say something consoling. "It took me a long time to realise it wasn't my fault, what I had done under someone else's control, even though I had destroyed lives whilst doing it." 

 

Stiles understands. But that doesn't make it better.

 

"Well, that's good for you Cas, but I killed people." Stiles sounds bitter to his own ears but he can't bring himself to stop now he's started. "With my own hands, I drove a sword into my best friend I- I can't come back from something like that. I can't be forgiven. I murdered so many people, people with families, children, loved ones-" Stiles shudders, and closes his eyes for a moment, returns to the familiar embrace of the fox, feels the fur rubbing against his chin. 

 

"I have killed innumerable of my brothers and sisters," Cas counters, "I've killed innocent men and women, I've sought my own gain with no regard for bystanders, I've wrought war on my home. I have killed more people than you can ever imagine." Cas sounds distant, and Stiles feels the anger in his voice even though he hasn't raised it at all.

 

"Now we've established we're both shitty people," Stiles rolls his eyes, "What are we doing in Antarctica?" 

 

Cas physically softens even though Stiles isn't looking at him. "It takes time." 

 

"Well," Stiles says, trying to lighten the mood, "I'm only seventeen. I've got a lot of time on my hands." And then he swallows. And counts his fingers again.

 

Stiles blinks and sees flowery wallpaper. They're back at the hotel. And Chris is still leaning forward, and Sam is still hovering a little bit away from the chair Stiles was in before. Stiles shoots Cas a grateful look and the angel acts oblivious. 

 

"Stiles, it wasn't you," Chris is saying, and Stiles waves him away. Chris looks dubious but Stiles is determined to pretend this whole freak out never happened.

 

"Okay," Stiles says, and he can see Dean looking questionably at Cas out of the corner of his eye, "Okay so you met the nogitsune. So what? We're pals now?"

 

Dean looks a bit harried but he catches up fast. "Uh. Kinda, yeah. Sounds about right. I did a lot of stuff in hell," and Sam coughs and Dean winces, "The second time around," he amends. "It seems I uh," now he looks caught between uncomfortable and like he's hitting on Stiles which is- whoa, weird. "Ran into it." And this psycho that tried to kill Stiles like twenty minutes ago shouldn't look so attractive like that but Stiles hasn't seen anyone apart from Chris and Isaac in a while.

 

Cas clears his throat and Dean looks abashed. Sam is bright red.

 

"Anyway," Stiles says, if just to change the conversation, "so you guys are here for a little R&R. What're you gonna do exactly? Gonna buy a house, white picket fence, bake pies?"

 

Dean chuckles but like before, it's slightly sour. "One out of three, yes. But uh," now he looks ashamedly at Sam, "this was kind of a rushed deal so we don't really have any plans." 

 

"I can help you guys out there," Chris offers, and Sam brightens. Dean looks between the two dangerously and okay, there's some history there. Maybe Stiles will have something to do apart from researching. The quick switches in emotions and tense atmosphere is too fast for Stiles to comprehend. Just a second ago the air had been thick with anxiety and--- and chaos. Now it just feels uneasy and awkward, there's a big love triangle no one wants to address.

 

"This is my number," Stiles grabs a piece of paper off the table near him, "My dad's the Sheriff. Call me if you run into any trouble." 

 

Dean whistles. "Chris, you got some good connections here." He winks at the man and shit, Stiles miscalculated by a long shot. "You weren't doing so hot last time I came 'round, or should I say-"

 

"Got it, Dean." Chris turns to Stiles and his mouth is tight. Stiles has got to know what's going on between these guys. "Let's go Stiles."

 

And if Chris doesn't see the hurt that flashes across Dean's face, it's okay, because Stiles saw it for him. 

 

₪

 

"So," Isaac looks confused, which is sort of the norm for him, "Wait, run it past me one more time?"

 

Chris heaves a sigh hut complies nevertheless. "Hunters by the name of Sam and Dean Winchester are in town. They say they mean no harm, which I want to trust, but obviously cannot," Chris drags a hand down his face. "They've got a supernatural being on their side who they claim is an angel, which I don't believe. And I'm getting them jobs in town."

 

Isaac watches him for a moment, stunned. And then he bursts into laughter. Stiles feels inclined to join him.

 

"There's one thing I need to know Chris," Stiles speaks up for the first time since they left the hotel room. "How do you know them?"

 

Chris turns his head to look at Stiles like he's an idiot. "I told you. We met on a hunt."

 

Stiles raises his eyebrows and Isaac quietness down enough to listen in. Chris shifts uncomfortably.

 

"We uh," he admits, avoiding their eyes, "We may have...slept together."

 

Isaac hoots with laughter. Stiles only smiles but inside he's almost crying. Who knew that Chris Argent was bisexual? Or at least not straight? Not Stiles, for one. Chris allows a small grin for them but then he's leaving the room, muttering something about calling local stores for vacancies.

 

"Oh wow," Isaac wipes tears from his eyes and Stiles doesn't know if he's faking or not. "That's priceless. I gotta meet these guys." 

 

The next day when Stiles visits the Argent house, he brings bad news.

 

"Isaac," he says, "I need a favour."

 

"Did you buy something off eBay and then refuse to pay?" Isaac shakes his head. "Those bitches'll get you real good."

 

"No, dude," Stiles laughs a little and yeah, maybe he is getting better. "It's just- my dad wants me to go back to school. I can't- um."

 

But Isaac seems to understand what he means. "I guess it's time for me to return as well." Then he smirks and flexes his arm muscles. "Lacrosse team is probably dying without me there." 

 

Stiles grins a little weakly. Maybe this won't be too bad. 

 

So the next day sees Stiles packing his lunch into his backpack, and driving his car to Argent's house to pick Isaac up on his way to school. What has his life become.

 

Stiles thinks Isaac sees the way he's gripping the steering wheel a little too hard, because he says, "Stiles. Chill. Today's gonna be fine. We don't even have Harris to deal with anymore." 

 

Yeah. Isaac may be becoming better everyday, but his humour is still a hit and miss. Stiles doesn't beget him of that though, because who is he to talk?


End file.
